


You're Not The Only One

by AlyssiaInWonderland



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Bind safely don't be like darling Spock, Bones is worried, Do Not Do This At Home Y'all, First Missions, Five Year Mission, Friendship, Gen, Getting to Know Each Other, Jim is worried, Spock is a darling, Trans Character, Use binders not bandages!!!!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-28
Updated: 2017-08-28
Packaged: 2018-12-21 00:17:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11932353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlyssiaInWonderland/pseuds/AlyssiaInWonderland
Summary: On Vulcan, there is no word for being transgender; it is simply assumed as logical. When Spock goes to the Academy, he learns that humans think of it all quite differently. He gets by, and doesn't bother to explain or tell people. When his first away mission with Captain Kirk goes awry, the Captain notices something is amiss.A short story about how they address the situation, inspired by this tumblr post: http://deforestkelleys.tumblr.com/post/164710885959/nonbinaryspock-listen-trans-spock-who





	You're Not The Only One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [assetbucky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/assetbucky/gifts).



Spock is at the Academy when he first realises that humans have a special word for who he is. Growing up on Vulcan, with the logic of Vulcan ways, he has never particularly thought of himself as requiring something to demark his identity. Yet, he comes to understand, humans place great importance on such identifiers. He is at first reluctant to claim the term transgender. The concept seems to be trapped in a large history of struggle, of violence and pain that he feels his heritage has mostly excluded him from. He knows dysphoria intimately, he knows the dark feelings, but he understands little of the prejudice that comes with it in human society. Far worse, on Vulcan, was the prejudice caused by his illogical human half; there was no illogic in being certain of one’s gender, but there was illogic in allowing his emotions to be so openly on display.

He learns, over time, to hide his body, make sure it is how others expect it to be just as much as he does it for himself. He is, for once, grateful that he is only half-Vulcan; his physiology is sufficiently unusual that he can claim to be unable to find tight-fitting clothing, and nobody particularly dares to question it. He is assigned to the USS Enterprise, as First Officer, and he thinks that, despite the stilted way he finds he must interact with the humans around him, it feels a lot like his dreams are coming true.

On his first away mission, he is determined to succeed. He knows, logically, that he is among the most skilled of the crew, and that he is likely to succeed. However, this logic cannot calm his riotous human emotions, and he finds himself nervous. His fears are proven correct, when the aliens that himself and his Captain are attempting to engage in peaceful conversation start firing at them. He is unprepared for the sudden requirement for movement; he had dressed in the assumption that strain would not be necessary on a peaceful mission and he curses his foolishness. He crouches behind a rock next to Kirk, and it is all he can do not to double over his chest in pain. Kirk is eyeing him, concern flitting across his handsome features, but before Spock can say anything to try and mitigate the situation, Kirk has sprung from behind the rock. Spock follows, and between them, they make it to the rendezvous point. Spock takes out his communicator, and informs Scotty of their co-ordinates, his voice and breaths ragged, his grip denting the communicator against the pain in his ribs.

When they have beamed up, Kirk stares at him for a moment, assessing him. Spock wants to retreat to his rooms, to meditate and perform a healing trance to reduce the likely damage that had occurred due to his naïve lack of preparation for the away mission. Kirk sees the dents in the communicator, and his eyebrows rise.

“Mr. Spock, I think you should report to Medbay for a full check-up. You seemed uncomfortable as soon as the firing started. I can’t take any risks on away missions, I’m sure you understand.”

“Yes, Sir.” Spock manages the words, though his voice is painful and uncontrolled, and he feels Kirk’s eyes on him all the way out of the transporter room.

Spock forces himself to sit perfectly still in Medbay, the Doctor’s whirring tricorder and gruff demeanour doing nothing to assuage his concern.

“I’m getting some alarming readings about your ribs, Mr. Spock. I’m afraid I’ll need to take a look.”

“Very well, Doctor.” Spock slowly removed his uniform shirt, his eyes fixed on the wall behind Doctor McCoy’s head, his back straight, as if his upper torso is not tightly bound by bandages.

“Aw, hell.” Doctor McCoy says, with careful emphasis. “Hiding an injury, dammit?!” He turns, and presses the intercom. “Sickbay to Bridge. Captain Kirk, get down here.”

“Coming, Doctor.”

Spock can feel the intense glare that the Doctor is fixing him with. Every time he opens his mouth to try and clear up the misunderstanding, the glare intensifies, and so he feels it prudent to wait until he will not be verbally assaulted for speaking.

“Doctor McCoy, what is it? I was bus-“ Kirk breaks off, taking in the bandages, and inhales sharply. “Mr. Spock was injured? I didn’t see any stray shots, but…”

“No Captain. This was on him already. He’s been concealing an injury, all this time. I know Vulcan’s have their privacy and stoicism, but this is too far, dammit! I’m the CMO, I need to know what injuries happen and how!”

“Mr. Spock. Why did you not appraise Doctor McCoy of your condition? I wouldn’t have sent you down for the away mission if I had known you were healing!”

“Captain, Doctor, I believe there has been a misunderstanding.” Spock says, keeping the fear out of his voice.

“A misunderstanding? You’re bandaged up to the-“

“Doctor McCoy!” Kirk rests a hand on his shoulder, as if to hold him back. “Let Mr. Spock explain himself.”

Spock feels their expectant eyes on him, and wants to sigh, but he can only do so shallowly.

“There are some words and concepts, which are unique to humans, where Vulcans do not have them.” Spock begins, and allows himself to shut his eyes for a half-second longer than usual in their blink. “I was not aware that there was a name for who I am, specifically, until I came to the Academy. I am Spock, and as all young Vulcans do, I expressed my identity to my parents as I came to understand myself, and I am a man. However, I have learned that on Earth, to humans, I would be considered as transgender.”

Spock is still looking at the wall, refusing to watch as their faces move from confusion, concern and anger to understanding.

“I know that this should not be an issue, according to the protocols, Captain. Doctor, I apologise if I was remiss in informing you of my status; however, on Vulcan it was never necessary to declare myself as such. I am accustomed to handling this myself; may I be dismissed?”

“Dismissed, Mr. Spock. You may take as much time as you need.” Kirk nods to him, glaring at the Doctor, who seems to want to say more. Spock replaces his top, and slides off the bed. He walks slowly to the door, and exits, lingering by the door, unwilling to admit to his concern and curiosity. He adjusts his top unnecessarily, providing himself with an excuse to stay and make use of his sharp Vulcan ears.

“Dammit, Jim! He’s binding-“ He hears Doctor McCoy half-shout, the anger in his voice making Spock desire to flinch.

“Doctor McCoy, it’s not unhear-”

“But not with bandages! I don’t care how damn strong Vulcans are, that should never be done!”

“Doctor-“

“He should have goddamn told me, that stubborn, green-blooded-“

“Bones!” Kirk shouts, and Spock thinks that perhaps he should have arranged to overhear them a little further away, because their voices ring loudly in his ears. “I know you’re angry. But we’ll just have to speak to him about it.”

“Sure we do, Jim. But he sure as hell won’t listen to me on this one.”

“It’s alright, Bones. I’ll talk to him.”

Spock hears Doctor McCoy sigh, and he must have nodded because footsteps sound behind the door. Spock quickly finishes fussing with his cuffs and walks as briskly as he is able, to his rooms.

He removes the bandages, and prepares to meditate, in one of his larger uniform tops. He has finished his healing trance, the pain now merely a phantom sensation of wrongness, and he finds he is grateful that the Captain allowed him to retreat to his room without a post mission briefing, despite the breach in protocol. He almost expects the intercom to buzz.

“Mr. Spock, this is Captain Kirk here.”

Spock stands, moving over to the intercom.

“Yes, Captain?”

“Could you come to my room, Mr. Spock?”

“Of course, Captain.”

Spock takes a deep breath, unfettered this time, and moves through the shared bathroom, knocking on the opposing door.

“Come in.”

Spock enters, and finds Kirk sat at his desk, the mission report up on the computer still. Kirk has removed his uniform boots, but is otherwise still formally dressed, so he stands to attention.

“What did you require, Sir?” Spock asks, glad that he had been meditating before this, as it helps him keep up his professionalism.

“Please, call me Jim. I wanted to speak with you. Have a seat.”

The Captain, Jim, gestures to the seat by his, and Spock takes it, cautiously.

“Is this concerning our earlier interaction, Captain?”

“An astute assumption, Mr. Spock. I-“

“I wish to state that I have checked over the regulations, and I do not believe myself to be at fault-“ Spock rushes out the words, part of him horrified that he has just tried to speak over the Captain, and the rest of him desperate to attempt to keep control of the situation, ensure that he is not going to be punished or judged.

“I said,” The Captain interrupts him, but not harshly. “Call me Jim. Please.”

Spock nods, looking at him, waiting for him to speak this time.

“I have a few questions for you, I’m afraid.”

“Alright…Jim.” Spock says, anxiety clawing in his stomach, but he ignores it, controls it.

“Do you bind regularly?”

“Yes.” Spock speaks quietly, feeling equal parts ashamed and defiant.

“You use bandages for this?”

“As you saw.”

“Would you be willing to just wear support on away missions, and to be examined regularly by Doctor McCoy to ensure that you do not damage yourself?”

“I…would be willing to, yes. I did not intend to bind during strenuous physical activity; I assumed that our mission would not require me to do such.”

“So did I, to be fair.” Jim smiles at him, ruefully, and Spock raises an eyebrow at the expression. So far, the situation seems significantly calmer, less fraught than his research on humans has led him to believe it would be.

“I’m not a Doctor,” Jim says, and Spock thinks, illogically, that he can feel his heart sink at the start of the sentence. “But I do know a thing or two about binding, Mr. Spock. Bandages are, frankly, dangerous to bind with. I don’t know how your Vulcan physiology can take it, but I know for a fact that you are also part human. And, isn’t it illogical to bind with an inferior technique, when there are stores of perfectly designed binders available?”

“I…confess that in all my research, I did not know that such were available, Capta-Jim.” Spock admits, looking at his hands, interlaced in his lap. So much of this conversation has been far beyond what he would have expected of the loudly extroverted Captain. He is, Spock knows, a perfectly decent man, and yet the evidence of this floors him slightly.

“Speak with the quartermaster as soon as you are able, Mr. Spock. They’ll get you sorted. I’m sure they could get you some better fitting uniform, too if you aren’t holding onto the sizing on purpose.” Jim smiles at him again, gentle in a way that Spock has never experienced before coming from someone not a member of his family.

“I will. However, I would prefer to keep my current clothing.” He says, stiffly, unsure of how to respond, how to process and interpret this interaction. 

“Understandable.” Jim stands, and claps him on the shoulder gently. “I’m sorry about Bones – Doctor McCoy. He means well, but his concern can be a little…uh…aggressive.”

“So I gathered.” Spock says, feeling his lips twitch a little, his eyebrow rising in response, and tries not to analyse or notice the leaping feeling when Jim grins back. “I confess, I did not expect to be greeted with solely concern and resources.” Spock feels like the admission is shameful, but Jim just nods at him.

“We all like to think that Starfleet is perfect, and welcoming to everyone. Don’t get me wrong, it really is, fundamentally. But the support systems, the processes in place, can be a damn pain to access. Or even find out about their existence.” He sounds a little frustrated by this, as if he takes the difficulties as a personal insult. Jim shuts down the computer, moving towards his bed, taking out tracksuit trousers and a tank top, though he makes no move to request that Spock leaves, so he stays put in the chair.

“The fact that the systems are in place at all is, I have to admit, somewhat…unexpected.” Spock tries to fix his gaze on the wall, as Jim strips out of his trousers and pulls on the tracksuit, and only lets his gaze slide back once his boxers are no longer on display.

“ Well,” Jim says, as he takes off his uniform shirt, throwing it carelessly into the washing chute in the wall. “You’re not the only one, you know.” Jim takes his tank top in his hand, turning to face Spock and sitting down on the edge of the bed casually.

Spock blushes at Jim’s casual confidence, feeling a slight tinge of green heat his cheeks. He finds his eyes drawn to his bare chest, the fine, matching scars across Jim’s upper torso, and he looks up, startled. Jim pulls on the tank top, his expression a grin that Spock finds both endearing and comforting.

“You have had…” Spock stops, aware of the invasiveness of what he had been about to ask. He looks away, dragging his gaze from Jim, from the easy masculinity that he has always envied, always assumed was in fact easy. “I apologise.”

“It’s alright, Spock. Humans don’t have the best reputation for acceptance, and I’ll admit it’s often warranted. But, if you ever want to chat…about anything, even just hang out…my door is open.” Jim moves over, touching his shoulder lightly again, and Spock feels the edge of a finger brush against his skin. He can sense the nervousness, the concern and the inexplicable affection that Jim feels behind the bright, sunny façade, and Spock decides that he must know this man.

“I must prepare my mission report.” Spock says, automatically.

“Of course.” Jim removes his hand, and gives Spock space as he stands and moves to the bathroom door. “I’m sorry I kept you.” His face is as open and easy to read as ever, and Spock spots the disappointment, the worry, on his features before he can hide it behind his usual smile.

“Do you play chess, Captain?” He says, quietly.

“Yes.” Jim looks up at him, hope clear on his features, and Spock knows that he could never bring himself to disappoint him.

“Once I have completed my report, perhaps I may return and play a game of chess?” Spock asks, unsure how to begin an overture of friendship, isolated as he had always been.

“I’ll look forward to it, Mr. Spock.” Jim grins, the expression dawning across his face like the sun, and Spock lets his own lips twitch up again into a soft, slight smile back.

Spock moves back to his own cabin, and sits down to begin his mission report. As he works, he finds his gaze sliding almost magnetically to the chess set on his shelf. He allows himself to feel the tentative, warm glow beginning inside him. He is not alone.

**Author's Note:**

> As every, comments and kudos is my life's blood!!
> 
> If you are transgender and have any issues with how I portrayed things, please let me know, I am 100% happy to edit and change this if needed!!! <3


End file.
